Chapter 5 #2
“You play drums?” I point at the guitar again. “So you are a musician.”
His patience evaporates. “Does it matter?”
“It does since I’m supposed to give you emotional guidance,” I say.
That does it. His whole expression shifts—tightens—his jaw flexing before he snaps, “You don’t have to give me shit.”
“My aunt would like to differ,” I reply, matching his tone.
He turns entirely toward me now, eyes narrowing with challenge. “Did your aunt tell you that children aren’t allowed in this building?”
I fold my arms, pulse rising. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you and your daughter have to move out.”
For a second, the words don’t register. Then they do, sinking in with an unpleasant chill I refuse to show.
I inhale slowly, gathering myself. “Well, technically,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on his, “I own half of this building now. So, no—she stays.” The truth is my entire life feels like a temporary arrangement, held together with hope and whatever project comes next.
Now it’s hope and paperwork, but I’m not letting this man steamroll me.
“Why aren’t children allowed? Do you have something against them? ”
“We’re better without each other,” he mutters, as if he genuinely believes adults—or him—and children should remain on opposite sides of the planet.
My breath leaves me in an irritated exhale. “I see.”
“I’m not broken,” he says abruptly. “Though like any human, I have my defects.”
That catches me off guard. I blink. “I never assumed you were broken.”
He studies me, eyes narrowing slightly. “Your child . . . Minnie was it?” He squints, brow creasing as he searches for the name. “My apologies if I didn’t remember the name right.”
“Mila,” I correct gently. “Her name is Mila. And she was concerned because you seemed frazzled.”
He holds my gaze for several silent beats, then: “How did you know who I was?”
I could leave him in limbo, but I think it’s better if I tell him.
“My aunt mentioned the neighbor across the hall,” I answer. “Who decided that there shouldn’t be any children in the building?”
His brows pull together. “Not sure. But that’s one of the reasons I bought this place. Your aunt approved anyone who purchased or rented units since she was the head of the board. She enforced that rule.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That doesn’t sound like her.”
He tilts his head, eyebrow lifting. “Being head of the board, or the rule about children?”
“Both,” I sigh.
“You’re the niece who travels a lot, right?” he asks, watching me as though he’s flipping through some invisible folder labeled Aunt Lina’s Life . . . or something.
I narrow my eyes. “How would you know there’s a traveling niece?”
He lifts a shoulder and brings his fingers back to the strings, brushing them lightly as if the conversation isn’t worth more than a halfhearted chord.
“Oh, no,” I cut in. “You can’t just drop that and hope I’ll let it slide.”
He stops again. His jaw tightens, and he draws a slow breath, bracing himself. “Oh. I see.”
“You see?” I say, preparing for whatever accusation he thinks he’s about to win.
“You’re one of those people who can’t handle quiet, need every detail explained, and—” his gaze drifts over me, head to toe, unfiltered, “—you probably rearrange hotel furniture because it felt wrong the way you found it.”
I find it irritating that he guessed the last part, maybe even offended.
“So what if I feng shui a place?” My voice rises with irritation I don’t bother suppressing it. “I’m not putting my child in a room that gives off strange energy while we figure out how long we’re staying.”
It’s true. Mila deserves comfort and calm wherever we land. I do what I can to give her that.
He blinks. “Feng what?”
“Feng shui,” I repeat. “It’s about arranging a space so it supports you instead of working against you.”
“So I was right. You’re indeed the traveling niece,” he says, sounding way too smug about it. “I thought so.”
“How did you know about me?” I press.
He shifts, placing his hand across the strings to mute them. “She mentioned you. Red hair, bubbly little thing. Said her niece was somewhere overseas, traveling with a child, writing stories for magazines and all that shit.”
I blink at him. “Magazines and all that shit? Is that how she said it?”
He lets out this dramatic exhale, like I’m wearing down his last nerve, and I can’t help enjoying how frustrated he’s getting. Maybe tomorrow I’ll let Mila unleash half her usual questions on him. He could use the mental workout.
“Listen, your aunt was a lovely woman with thousands of stories,” he states. “I can’t remember them all, but I retain what seems important.”
“Would you know why she left all this to me—” I pause, searching his face for even a flicker of insight, but he doesn’t look at me. His attention stays pinned to his guitar, as though the answer might be tucked between the strings. “Temporarily.”
His head jerks up so fast I almost step back. “You’re just here for a few weeks?” The spark in his eyes is unmistakable—like I’ve just announced his early release from a sentence he didn’t want in the first place.
“I mean, I have to stay a year to fulfill some stipulations,” I say casually instead of explaining everything my aunt wanted me to do while I’m here.
“How much do you want to leave tomorrow?” he asks.
I blink. “Excuse me?” The words sit somewhere between disbelief and irritation, my brows rising higher than they should.
He doesn’t even soften it. “How much did she leave?” He taps the side of the guitar with a fingertip. “I’ll pay it so you can go as early as tomorrow morning.”
My annoyance kicks hard in my chest. The audacity. The entitlement. The sheer gall of offering money like I’m something he can buy out of his way.
I straighten, heat simmering beneath my skin. “You know what? Keep your money, asshole.” My voice sharpens, fueled by every ounce of indignation boiling up inside me. “I’m staying. And I’m staying the full year and twenty minutes more.”
He opens his mouth—probably to argue, or negotiate, or insult me again—but I’m done. Thoroughly done.
I lift my chin, give him a tight, pointed smile that promises trouble, and declare, “See you bright and early, neighbor.”
Then I turn on my heel and storm inside before he can say another word—already deciding that for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, his life is going to be inconvenient in all the ways that truly matter.
He might be infuriating, and hot—which I’m absolutely, one-hundred-percent immune to, thank you very much—but that doesn’t change the fact that he deserves every ounce of trouble coming his way.
And yes, maybe my pulse jumped when he looked at me like he wanted me gone for entirely personal reasons and not .
. . whatever this is simmering between us, but I refuse to examine that.
I refuse to examine him. Especially when my brain keeps insisting he’d look annoyingly good smirking at my downfall.
And sure, my aunt’s will claims I’m supposed to be in charge of his emotional improvement—whatever cosmic joke that is—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to make this easy on him.
Far from it. If he wants distance, he can choke on proximity.
If he wants silence, he can wrestle with my presence.
If he wants out . . . well, unfortunately for him, I’m here for an entire year. A whole, glorious year.
Besides, I have a secret weapon—a tiny human who has zero boundaries, infinite curiosity, and the uncanny ability to dismantle grown men with innocent questions. If Alec thinks I’m inconvenient, wait until Mila gets started. Honestly, even I’m a little afraid for him.